now hear this
by memorysdaughter
Summary: College AU in which Skye is deaf and Jemma is lonely. They don't speak the same language, but neither girl can deny there's something between them. [Skimmons]
1. Chapter 1

now hear this

Jemma wasn't sure why it took her so long to realize there was a sign language interpreter standing in the front of the room during every single session of ENG 425 (Jane Austen as Social Commentary), but when she did, it was mid-October and the leaves were red and gold outside the windows of Angell Hall. She wondered if he'd been there the entire time, and then immediately thought of what Fitz would say. "Typical Jemma, head in the clouds… or in your books." 

But Fitz wasn't there. His summer internship with Dr. Damian Fellowes, a distinguished lecturer, and, according to Fitz, "one of the brightest minds of our time," had turned into a fall semester abroad. Along with two other students, Fitz and Dr. Fellowes had packed off to France, where they would be working on perfecting certain types of neural stimulators. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and deep down, Jemma was glad Fitz had taken it. 

It was the first time in their college careers they'd been separated, though, and Jemma found herself profoundly lonely. She spent her nights tucked away in her dorm room, a tiny attic single she'd crammed with books, and her days attending class and working at the university's main library, where she shelved books for hours at a time. Her life seemed to be passing in a blur, studying and eating bad cafeteria food and working and sleeping and above all, missing Fitz, any of which could have explained why she'd been so clueless to the presence of the man who had apparently been standing directly behind the professor during every class three times a week, for an hour and a half at a go. 

The professor, a diminutive woman with silvery hair pulled back in a neat bun, had expressed her wish for the small class to become more of a social group where learning took place, and had thus arranged their chairs in a circle, so that every student could see the others. It was a section entirely full of women, which made Jemma feel even stupider that she'd completely missed the interpreter: he was the only man in the room. 

As the rain slapped against the windows of the classroom and the red and gold leaves bobbed in the afternoon wind, Jemma studied her classmates, trying to figure out which one was the cause for the interpreter's presence. It was harder than she thought it would be, because though the class was small, there were a handful of students who rarely spoke, or had yet to speak. One was a ditzy-looking blond, but as Jemma watched her closely, she never once looked at the interpreter or the professor. Another was an angry-faced redheaded with close-cropped hair and a jean jacket studded with a multitude of brightly-colored buttons, but as Jemma continued her observation, her classmate leaned over and whispered to the girl next to her. Clearly neither was the interpreter's raison d'etre. 

Finally, when Jemma had almost decided that the interpreter was nothing more than a figment of her overly-caffeinated brain, a girl two seats away shifted in her chair and tucked a strand of her long, dark brown hair behind her ear, exposing for Jemma to see a hearing aid – the earmold glittery violet and the behind-the-ear amplifier a darker shade of purple. 

Jemma couldn't remember ever seeing the girl before, but, like the interpreter, she knew the deaf girl had been there all along. It was puzzling, though – why hadn't she noticed? 

At the end of the class, the professor stayed behind to talk with a few students who were unhappy with their grades on the paper handed back that day. Jemma, who had gotten top marks as usual got up at the same time as the deaf girl, hoping to follow her out into the hall, but they were both swept up in a crush of students. Jemma tripped with her papers and books in her hands, the deaf girl accidentally had her books shoved to the floor, and in the series of moments following the scramble to grab their respective books and folders, Jemma realized that somehow both girl and interpreter were gone. 

Jemma found it bizarre how disappointed she was, and she found it similarly bizarre that she became absolutely excited to realize that she would only have to wait two days for her next opportunity to see the oddly-matched pair. 

And what would Fitz have said about that? 

"Typical Jemma – falling in love with a girl who doesn't even know you exist." 

She hated when Fitz was right, and she especially hated it when the Fitz in her head was right. It was somehow even more annoying, and it somehow made his absence all the more palpable.

* * *

><p>Skye unlocked the door to her dorm room, pulling off the hood of her raincoat as she entered. Water dripped onto the tile floor; she could feel it as the drops hit the toes of her boots. <p>

As usual, classes had been the usual humdrum of gaping, moving mouths conveying nothing of substance – at least, to her – and her all-consuming one-on-one relationship with her interpreter, her guide through the world of hearing, speaking college students. 

He was a nice guy, but so far he was the only person she'd connected with whatsoever on campus. He didn't count as a friend, though, because he had a real life, a house in the city and a girlfriend who did something bureaucrat-y for a government agency. When she was done with classes, Mr. Coulson went home to his beautiful girlfriend (she'd seen pictures) and Skye went back to her dorm room, where she studied in silence until it was time to go to bed. 

Professors were kind and accommodating, for the most part, but they didn't understand. Other students looked at her like she was some sort of alien, staring without shame at Mr. Coulson's rapid movements and her returning gestures. It had been awhile since she'd been ashamed to be deaf, but life at Barnham College was quickly upping the shame quotient, and consequently, she was alone. 

Alone at meals, alone in classes, alone on the walks between dorm and caf and class, alone on the bus ride to the mall or the library, anywhere she could lose herself and forget, for one fleeting series of moments, that being deaf was abnormal. 

She knew there were other deaf students on campus, at least a handful or so, because Mr. Coulson wasn't the only interpreter at Barnham. She'd seen pictures of the other two at the Disability Resource Center when she had dropped off her schedule for Mr. Coulson. And she'd met two other deaf students at her orientation; they'd shared and interpreter for those days. But at Barnham, even deaf culture was exclusive. Her experience with the other two students had left her feeling even more alien than normal. All she wanted was for someone to accept her for her, not for being the deaf chick or the girl who hadn't attended a residential school for the deaf or the interesting curiosity who came to class with what at first seemed like her very own bodyguard (Mr. Coulson might have been old enough to be her father, but he was still tough-looking and strong in ways she couldn't figure out how to express). 

Skye sighed as she opened her school bag. She wasn't getting anywhere with her round-and-round thoughts, only getting more depressed. Might as well throw in some British lit for funsies. 

But when she pulled _Pride and Prejudice_ from her bag, she stared at it uncomprehendingly. The book she'd brought home was not her own. 

Something like panic flooded her veins as she remembered that she and the mousy girl two seats over had collided with some of their classmates, both of them dropping their books to the floor. In the confusion the books had obviously been switched. 

_Damn it_, Skye thought as she saw the tidy, precise handwriting inside the front cover, declaring the book to be the property of "Jemma Simmons, 428 Castell Hall." 

_And she lives in my dorm!_ Skye groaned inwardly. _Perfect._ Now she had no excuse for not taking the book back to its rightful owner and retrieving her own copy. No doubt someone who cared enough to put their name and address in the book, in case of just such a situation like the one that had occurred, was frantic with its loss. 

She tried to think of other ways to get the book back to Jemma Simmons (428 Castell Hall), anything that would prevent her from having to walk up the stairs to the fourth floor, knock on a door, and then use both her limited ability to lip-read and her off-key, clearly-deaf voice to deal with Jemma Simmons and/or a roommate. She could email this Jemma Simmons, and then leave the book at the first floor desk. Or she could wait until Wednesday, when the Jane Austen class would meet again. Or she could light the book on fire, claim ignorance of its whereabouts if ever asked, and buy a new copy at the first opportunity. 

Somehow she found that she could do none of those things. She kept looking at the book, at Jemma Simmons' precise, girlish handwriting, at the obviously well-loved raspberry-colored tapestry bookmark holding a place among the pages. She thought of how upset she would be if a similarly cherished possession was lost, and in the end she could only see Mr. Coulson, as though he was some sort of Mr. Miagi, giving her the right answer. 

_Don't be afraid_, her mind-Coulson signed. _Maybe you'll make a friend._

Skye grumbled as she pulled her boots back on. _ And maybe she'll mock my voice and call me a thief_, she replied to mind-Coulson. _Maybe she'll punch me_. 

_Life is risk_, mind-Coulson signed. 

Skye rolled her eyes as she grabbed her keys and the book and let herself out into the hallway. _I need to get a hobby._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for all the favorites and follows! I hope this chapter is what you're hoping for, and I look forward to reading your suggestions for future chapters.

The two songs Jemma listens to are from one of my favorite singers, British folk singer Kate Rusby. She's got a lovely voice and she's definitely worth a listen.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Skye took the back stairs up to the fourth floor, walking as slowly as she possibly could. She knew she was doing the right thing, returning the book to Jemma Simmons, but she <em>hated<em> talking. Hated the way her voice sounded. Hated the way people stared at her when she used it, more so than when they saw her signing with Mr. Coulson or anyone else. Signing was an intimate relationship, a duality that Skye had gotten used to. Speaking was always to her disadvantage.

With every step she took, she practiced making the right mouth shapes for the few sentences she'd chosen. _My name is Skye. I took your book. It was an accident. I'm sorry._

The shorter, the better. The quicker she got away from Jemma Simmons and back into the silence and safety of her room, the better.

Skye opened the door to the fourth floor. A group of girls, all arms and legs and brightly-colored too-short clothes, shoved past her. She spent several long seconds watching their mouths, flapping silently, realizing too late that their hateful eyes were what should have gotten her attention first.

And then they were gone, and Skye was in front of 428. Her heart was pounding and she was sweating, partially from the long, slow climb up the stairs and partially from her extreme desire to avoid speaking, especially speaking to Jemma Simmons.

_I __really__ need to get a hobby_.

She raised one hand and formed it into a fist, then stopped.

_You are one of the sharpest students I've seen come through here_, she recalled Mr. Coulson signing to her shortly after her arrival at Barnham. _Might have something to do with your upbringing_.

She hadn't known what to think about that.

_I mean, you didn't go to a school for the deaf_, he'd gone on. _You had to fight for everything, being mainstreamed. You're a fighter, Skye. You fight for what matters._

And this book mattered to Jemma Simmons.

She knocked.

* * *

><p>Jemma lay on her back on her fuzzy blue rug, knowing she should do homework. But the rain outside was so lovely and wonderful, especially when combined with the melodic strains of Jemma's favorite British singer, Kate Rusby. She knew that she was listening to more "music from home," as Fitz would put it, with her best friend gone, but she couldn't help it. Those folk songs reminded her of when they were together. When she knew who she was.<p>

_I saw the man in the moon / Fie, man, fie! / I saw the man in the moon / Who's the fool now? / I saw the man in the moon / Shining up St. Peter's shoe / Thou has well drunken, man / Who's the fool now?_

There were plenty of drunk girls on the fourth floor of Castell Hall, much as Jemma supposed there were drunk girls in every hall at Barnham. Her tiny single room was at the end of a hallway, but it was surrounded by enough sorority sisters and weekend partiers that she frequently smelled booze or heard loud, vicious arguments. She was just glad the alcohol-related incidents were confined to verbal fights – she wasn't ready yet for anyone to go out a window or start a fist-fight or a fire.

One of the girls down the hall had even gotten teary all over Jemma one weekend. "You're so smart to have a boy as your best friend! Girls are so vicious and catty and boy are just _nice_. Nice for talking, nice for kissing…"

Jemma had shuddered, only slightly repulsed by the idea of kissing Fitz. Or any boy.

The track changed.

_If I take off my silken gowns / then turn your back on me / for it's not fitting / that such a cruel world / a naked woman should see_.

Jemma rolled over and hurriedly hit "skip" on the open iTunes window. Fitz had always mocked her for loving "The Outlandish Knight."

"It's such a fairy story," he'd said. "Such romantic girly nonsense."

"I _like_ fairy stories" was her constant refrain. "And I _am_ a girl!"

In the sudden silence between songs, Jemma heard something – something like a hesitant knock at her door.

She quickly closed her computer and got to her feet, crossing the small room in her stocking feet. She stood on her tiptoes to peer out through the door's peephole, but all she could see was a dark head of hair, as though the person in front of her door had their head bowed.

Jemma unlocked the door and the person looked up and Jemma's heart nearly stopped in her chest. It was the deaf girl from her Jane Austen seminar.

* * *

><p>Skye caught the door opening in her peripheral vision and she jerked her head up, away from the toes of her boots, and looked the mousy Jemma Simmons in the eyes.<p>

She figured she had about six seconds before the girl before her started to speak, which would cause Skye to lose control of the interaction completely, something she could _not_ allow to happen.

"My name is Skye," she said quickly, hating the way her voice made her mouth vibrate. "I took your book."

She thrust the copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ towards Jemma Simmons.

"It was an accident," she continued. "I'm sorry."

If she had expected Jemma Simmons to be grateful, or thank her for returning the book, she was wrong. The girl stood there with her mouth open, as though Skye had struck her. She didn't even reach for the book.

_Shit. She didn't understand me._

Then it was as though Jemma had been struck by a small electrical charge, because her eyes went wide, she held up one finger, and whirled away from Skye, hurtling back into her room, obviously searching for something.

Skye stood in the doorway, the Jane Austen book still in her hand. It took only a few seconds for Jemma to locate her tablet and carry it back to the doorway, her fingers moving like lightning over the touch screen. She held it up for Skye to see.

_Hi Skye. My name's Jemma, but I can see you already know that_, she'd typed.

Something like relief flooded through Skye's veins. Hesitantly she reached for the tablet. Jemma surrendered it without reluctance.

_You could understand me?_ Skye typed.

Jemma nodded and smiled. The smile lit up her entire face and she looked kinder, softer somehow.

Skye could only think that Jemma Simmons wasn't nearly as mousy as she'd remembered.

* * *

><p>Jemma's heart started to beat again as she deciphered the deaf girl's words in her head. Her classmate spoke slowly, her voice clogged and somewhat slurred, but it was clear she placed special emphasis on each word. After her first statement Jemma nearly stopped listening. This mystery girl with the purple hearing aids and the awesome black boots had a name. <em>Skye.<em>

Then she heard something about a book and realized that made complete sense. The deaf girl hadn't shown up in response to Jemma's cluttered thoughts about her – she'd shown up to do something very kind.

Jemma beckoned Skye into her room. The other girl looked a bit unsure, but she cautiously took a few steps onto Jemma's fuzzy rug. Jemma took the book from her hand, pointed to the cover, and smiled again, then gave Skye a thumbs-up. She set the book on her desk and grabbed her backpack from the corner. Opening it up, she discovered a crinkled, much-used copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ under her notebook. She removed it and held it up for Skye to see.

Skye nodded, gratefully retrieving the paperback from Jemma's outstretched hands.

Jemma took the opportunity to type out another message. _Thank you for returning it. I would have been frantic if I'd discovered it gone._

She held the tablet out towards Skye, who took it from her. _I could tell it was important_, Skye typed. _ Glad you weren't worried about it._

_My friend Fitz bought it for me_, Jemma typed. _ It reminds me of home._

Skye looked down at the message, trying to understand Jemma's meaning. She felt her hands rise up without her consent, signing _What?_ before she could stop them.

Quickly, her hands shaking, she reached out for the tablet, typing, _Sorry. What did you mean by that? About home?_

_I think sign language is beautiful_ was Jemma's answer, which Skye wasn't expecting. They locked eyes for a few seconds, then Jemma smiled and started typing again. _ Jane Austen's a British author, I'm from England… Fitz bought it for me when he was visiting me there._

Skye took the tablet and typed out a new message for Jemma: _Here's the sign for "England."_

She waited for Jemma to read the message and look up, then, heart pounding, brought her hands in towards her stomach, putting her right hand atop her left hand, palms facing down, moving them just slightly as though she was holding the top of an old-fashioned walking cane. "England," Skye said aloud, knowing she was probably butchering the word.

To her relief, Jemma didn't stare or look at her like she was crazy. Instead, the petite girl brought her own hands in, copying Skye's movements perfectly. "England," she said, and Skye wondered how the word sounded in a British accent as she watched the other girl's lips move.

Skye just repeated the sign again, and for a few minutes the girls stood a few feet apart, signing "England" as though they were participating in some sort of nationalist contest. Then Jemma picked up the tablet and typed, _I like that. Maybe you could teach me some more sign language some time._

Skye froze. Her heart started to pound in her chest again and the room spun a bit. "Have to go, bye," she managed to blurt out, hating the way her voice felt, and she bolted from the room, her battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice _clutched in her hand.

* * *

><p>Jemma couldn't decide how she felt as she watched Skye panic, then escape from her sight. Part of her was saddened that it seemed to be so difficult for the other girl to communicate, to interact with others without an interpreter. Part of her felt embarrassed – she spoke three or four languages, why hadn't she ever thought about learning sign language? It was a perfectly acceptable language! And still another part of her was blushing furiously, thinking <em>She came here! <em>_She__ came __here!_

"Typical Jemma," she could hear Fitz saying. "You don't know anything about her besides she's beautiful and deaf."

_All the more reason to study_, she informed her mental Fitz. _To learn to speak her language. __So next time she won't be so embarrassed._

_So next time, maybe she'll stay a little longer._

* * *

><p>Skye fled down the stairs, ran down the hallway, unlocked her room, and hurried inside. She locked the door behind her, kicked off her boots, and though it was only five o'clock, she got into bed, pulling her blanket over her head.<p>

There in the silence and darkness, she could feel her heart slowing. Away from prying eyes and beautiful hearing girls with beautiful eyes –

_Where did __that__ come from?_ she demanded of herself.

She didn't give her brain time to come up with an answer. She rolled over, grabbing her ratty stuffed elephant, and stuck her head under the pillow. It was one of her preferred methods for memorizing information – to read until she couldn't stand the material any longer, then sink down into the sensory deprivation of her bedcovers and remember as much as she could.

But instead of chemistry facts or math equations, all Skye could think about was Jemma Simmons, and her smile, and how proud Jemma had looked when signing "England."

_Told you_, her mind-Coulson signed to her.

Skye closed her eyes, letting her heartbeat slow even further. _It's done. It's done. You never have to talk to her again._

But somehow she knew her first interaction with Jemma Simmons would definitely _not_ be her last.

It surprised her that she didn't hate that thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for your reviews and follows and favorites! Very flattering.

In this chapter I introduce Skye's sister, who I imagine as Summer Glau (another Whedon-verse alum). Thus the name.

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, in which we are introduced to some familiar faces in some not-so-familiar roles.

* * *

><p>Wednesday Jemma stood outside the classroom, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The last time she had been so nervous, she was about to present one of her graduate-level theses to her advisor at Oxford. This time she was practically bursting with excitement.<p>

She checked her watch. There were still two minutes before class would start. Normally Jemma hated being even on-time – she preferred to be early. But today she was waiting for something special.

At last Skye came walking up the hallway, her hands flying as she signed with her interpreter. Jemma took a quick breath, squared her shoulders, and approached them.

_Hi!_ she signed to both Skye and the interpreter.

Skye finished whatever she was signing and gave her full attention to Jemma. _Hi_, she replied in the same way.

Jemma thought she might explode. _Nice… to see you… today… Skye_, she signed, and she felt like she'd just run a marathon. "And you too," she said to the interpreter. "I don't know your name."

"I'm Mr. Coulson," the interpreter said. "But you can call me Phil."

A shy smile appeared on Skye's face, and she signed something rapidly to the interpreter. He laughed, then nodded, and said, "You're a quick study."

"Oh, yes, sir," Jemma said. "I mean, I finished my first degree at Oxford when I was sixteen and…"

She cut herself off, blushing madly. Then she turned again to Skye, her hands still shaking a little, and signed, _Would you… like to sit… next to me… today?_

The shy smile grew into a grin, and Skye brought her hands up. _Yes. I would like to._

"Did you get that?" Mr. Coulson asked.

Jemma nodded, and then hurriedly signed, _Yes_.

And Skye smiled again, and Jemma found herself wishing she knew more sign language, just so she could see that smile more often.

* * *

><p>The professor encouraged discussion about <em>Pride and Prejudice<em> for the majority of the class, and then announced the upcoming midterm project. It wasn't a surprise; it had been on the syllabus since the beginning of the term, but Jemma had forgotten that it was a cooperative project – the students would be working in pairs. She'd blocked that out of her mind because, at the time, she hadn't known a single soul in the class and couldn't think of anyone she'd want to work with.

But now, as the professor finished her remarks about the requirements for the project and asked them, once they'd found partners, to come up and write their names down, Jemma flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and scribbled, _Do you want to work with me?_, then passed the book to Skye.

Skye took a moment to read the message. She looked up at Jemma and nodded.

Jemma retrieved the notebook and wrote, _I'll go put our names on the list._

_Thank you_, Skye signed.

When Jemma returned Skye was signing with Mr. Coulson. The interpreter looked mildly concerned and seemed to be repeating a series of three or four signs. Skye shook her head and turned her gaze to Jemma.

"Um, I'll email you," Jemma said, watching as Mr. Coulson immediately began moving his hands again. "Um, to talk about the project. And when we can work on it."

"Sounds like a plan," Mr. Coulson replied as Skye signed.

Their classmates streamed out of the room around them, and finally they were the only people in the room. Jemma felt something like mild anxiety thwack into her stomach. She didn't want to leave Skye, but she couldn't quite say why. As she checked her watch, though, she realized she had to. "I have to go," she said. "I'm supposed to meet someone in about ten minutes at Prescott Hall."

_Okay_, Skye signed.

Jemma gave her a small smile and signed her last practiced sentence: _See you later._

Skye waved and she and the interpreter headed out of the classroom.

Jemma found herself grinning like a loony, something in her chest fizzing like champagne and fireworks.

"Typical Jemma," she could hear Fitz saying. But in her head he was smiling, like he was proud of her. Heck, _she_ was proud of her.

And then she realized she was alone in an empty classroom, grinning to no one, and late for her meeting.

* * *

><p><em>You need to call your sister<em>, Mr. Coulson signed as he and Skye exited Angell Hall. _She might be able to help you._

_I told you, it's not a big deal_, Skye replied, making her signs brisk and efficient to show him she didn't want to continue talking about this.

_Skye_, Mr. Coulson signed firmly.

She sighed. _Fine. I'll call her tonight. But it's no big deal._

Mr. Coulson looked at his watch. _I have to go_, he signed. _ The orchestra's leaving for the theater in a half hour, and I promised Audrey I'd be in my tux by then._

_Right_, Skye replied, forcing a smile. _Audrey's big night. I want to hear all about it tomorrow._

_Okay,_ Mr. Coulson signed. _I'll meet you at Walker Hall for Calculus._

They parted ways and Skye managed to walk a hundred feet or so before she had to sit down, lurching awkwardly onto a nearby bench. She leaned forward, putting her head between her knees, clenching her hands into fists as she tried to keep breathing.

At first she thought it had been a misunderstanding. A student in her History class had made a derisive, insulting remark – translated later by Mr. Coulson – and then he'd followed her back to her dorm, attempting to talk to her. She'd watched his lips, watched as he'd said some incredibly horrible things about deaf people and disabled people as a whole. When she'd politely told him to leave, using both Mr. Coulson and her hated voice, he'd grown angry. Since then, he'd followed her around the dorm, accosted her at any time of day, sent her threatening and disgusting emails, and left similar notes under her door. She had no idea what he wanted, other than to scare the shit out of her and insult her, and she frankly didn't want to know. It was first irritating, and now a bit frightening.

But she didn't want to call her sister. That would be like admitting she couldn't handle herself, even though it wasn't true. Summer would understand; she always did. Summer had taken care of Skye for as long as Skye could remember, their parents having died when she was very young. Ten years older, Summer had always exuded confidence and purpose – spending as much time with Skye as she could when they were living with their grandparents, and then taking over wholly after their grandparents had passed away. Summer was Skye's legal guardian and she was Skye's best friend. And she would understand about this guy – this _Grant Ward_ – who wouldn't leave Skye alone.

Her breathing finally returned to normal, Skye took her phone from her pocket. She couldn't count how many acquaintances and virtual strangers had commented on how odd it was for a deaf person to have a phone. "What do you need it for?" was their fervent question, assuming that someone who didn't talk and couldn't hear wouldn't make phone calls.

But Skye could text message, and she could FaceTime, and she could email, and she could set up relay calls, where she signed to an operator who then relayed the message vocally to whoever she was calling. And it was a lot handier than carrying around a TTY, a clunky teletypewriter, whenever she wanted to get in touch with someone. She still had a TTY, hooked up to the mainline phone in her dorm room, but she liked the portable capability of the iPhone in her pocket much more.

Now she opened a new text message. **Need to talk**, she typed to Summer. **Tonight?**

As she sat on the bench, looking up at the red and orange leaves on the trees overhead, she could feel her heart slowing further. Things would be all right. Summer would talk her through a solution to her crazy stalker. Mr. Coulson would meet her for Calculus in the morning and tell her all about Audrey's (sure to be amazing) performance with the orchestra. And she had a new friend – a _friend_ (the thought fairly made her dizzy with something like happiness) – in Jemma Simmons.

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

**Sounds good**, came Summer's reply. **Skype around eight-thirty?**

**Eight-thirty it is**.

Skye clicked her phone off, put it back in her pocket, and stood up. A faint breeze stirred the brightly-colored leaves on the trees and she watched as a few of them drifted into the nearby river.

Things would be okay. She would be okay.

Somehow.

* * *

><p>"You're late," a calm, firm voice said as soon as Jemma opened the door to the fifth floor office.<p>

"I know, and I'm so sorry," Jemma said. "I was just…"

"I don't need excuses." The voice belonged to a slim Asian woman with a no-nonsense haircut, wearing a well-tailored blazer and a crisp button-down. "When I say four-fifteen, I mean four-fifteen."

She stood. "Jemma Simmons, I presume."

Jemma stuck out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor May."

The woman shook her hand briskly and sat back down. "If you're late to our first meeting, I'm not sure how seriously I can take your commitment."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Jemma said hastily. "I want… I would like to make this work. Very much."

"Punctuality is very important to me," May said. "As is personal responsibility. If I give you an assignment, I want it completed to the best of your abilities. No slacking off. If this is as important to you as you say it is…"

"It is," Jemma said firmly.

"… then you need to take it seriously. As seriously as any of your other classes, as seriously as any of your homework or projects." May sat back and looked sternly at Jemma. "Can you be counted on to be that committed?"

Jemma nodded.

"Okay," May said. She reached to her left and pulled a thick book from a pile of similar books and papers. "Start with this."

The professor handed the book to Jemma, who looked down at it. "Um, read it…? Or…?"

"For a start," May said. "By Friday."

"Friday?" Jemma was momentarily startled.

"Friday. Is that a problem?"

"No! No, of course not," Jemma said quickly. "Just wanted to make sure I heard you."

"Four-fifteen on Friday," May said.

Jemma nodded, somewhat awkwardly, and stood up. "Um, thank you."

Professor May had turned to her computer, but as Jemma reached the door, she spoke again. "For what it's worth, Miss Simmons, although I don't fully understand all your motives, I think it's very noble, what you're doing."

"Oh. Um. Well, I'm not curing cancer or anything. I just… I just want to be able to talk to this girl," Jemma said.

"And I maintain that's noble," May said. "I look forward to teaching you sign language. It's a beautiful, expressive language, and I think it will be of great interest to you."

Then she turned back to her computer, Jemma apparently forgotten. Jemma stuffed the book – _A Beginner's Guide to Deaf Culture and American Sign Language_ – into her backpack and left.

"It will be of great interest to you," May had said, but she had no idea.

_I want to be able to talk to Skye_, Jemma reminded herself. _I want to have a conversation with her, just the two of us, without an interpreter._

Heat rose in her cheeks and excitement tingled down her spine. _I don't know what I'd even say, but… but just being next to her, our hands moving and __meaning__ something… _

As she exited the office and headed down the hall, another thought occurred to her. _God, I hope she likes me._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Skye tapped her fingers on her chin as she waited for her sister to show up on the computer screen. Somehow she'd made it home, only to find a note from Grant Ward on her door. It was on the desk in front of her, and for some reason she couldn't take her eyes away from the red letters.<p>

At least, she assumed it was from Grant Ward. He was the only person she knew who would write "GO HOME DEAF BITCH" on a piece of paper and then tape said piece of paper to her door. Everyone else she'd met at Barnham didn't remember she existed… or was Jemma Simmons.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she jumped, pulling it from her pocket.

**I'm over here.**

Skye turned towards her computer and smiled. _Hi Summer_, she signed.

Summer and Skye shared several physical attributes – dark eyes, dark hair, angular features – and even more emotional and mental characteristics. They were disciplined, inquisitive, smart, and self-sufficient. Summer moved between spoken English and ASL as easily as any interpreter; Skye never had to worry about making herself understood when Summer was with her. Her sister was nearly telepathically linked to her – Summer understood everything, and Skye loved her for it.

_You look upset_, Summer signed.

Skye rolled her eyes and held up the note from Grant Ward.

_What the hell is that?_ Summer demanded, her hands sharp and angry.

_From a secret admirer_, Skye replied. Carefully, she tried to explain about Grant Ward.

Summer cut her off as she was trying to make an excuse about how it wasn't that bad. _If someone is harassing you, you need to go to your RA._

_She's not interested_, Skye answered, and it was true. Her RA, a spunky blond woman, was more interested in partying and hanging out with boys than in helping her residents. Plus, the RA made no attempts to understand Skye through written conversation, and the last time Skye had tried to use her voice, the RA had made a face like she'd just eaten something disgusting.

_If someone is harassing you, you need to tell someone_, Summer said, a little more firmly. _Your interpreter. Or the police._

_I don't think I need to get the police involved_, Skye said, moving her hand into a "C" shape and tapping it against her chest for the word "police."

_If he hurts you, I would never forgive myself._

_I don't think he's that strong_, Skye said. While Grant Ward scared her, mostly because he had a tendency to get up in her face and shout things she had no hope of understanding, she honestly felt that he was weak. Too weak to hit a girl, too weak to follow through on the threats he kept emailing and shouting at her.

_It would kill me if anything happened to you_.

_I know_, Skye replied.

_Promise me you'll tell someone._

_Now you sound like Mr. Coulson._

_He's a very smart man._ Summer smiled at Skye. _I look forward to meeting him when I come up to visit you._

Skye gave her sister a half-smile.

_Now, do you need anything?_ Summer asked. _When are you due to have your hearing aids checked?_

_In two weeks._

_Are you making any friends?_

_Oh, yeah, I've joined a gang. It's awesome._

_Skye_, Summer signed firmly, her face serious. _Please tell me you've made a friend._

Skye thought of Jemma Simmons, three floors up, probably doing whatever it was British hearing girls did on their Wednesday nights, and she signed _maybe_ to her sister.

_How can you maybe make a friend?_

_I barely know her_, Skye answered. _But we're working on a project together, so that'll change._

_Then why are you sitting here talking to me? _Summer demanded, mischief glinting in her eyes. _Go hang out._

_I don't really know what that means. And we don't even speak the same language._

Summer leaned closer to the screen and smiled at Skye. _Being friends means you speak the same language_, she informed her sister.

_I guess so_, Skye signed.

Summer looked at something off-camera, then back at Skye. _I have to go_, she signed. _It's time for class._

Summer taught dance classes out of the little house she and Skye shared. A studio had been built onto the back of the residence, and so for the majority of the day Summer could be found there, working with everyone from tiny girls in pink leotards to older men learning ballroom dancing. She loved it, and Skye loved watching Summer teach. Her sister was passionate and free when she danced, and though Skye had never heard the music, she knew Summer felt it through every corner of her soul. It was beautiful.

_Have a good time_, Skye signed. _I'll talk to you later._

_Next time we talk, I want to hear that you've done something about this Grant Ward_, Summer signed, her face twisting with disgust as she finger-spelled the man's name. _You're too precious to me to have someone like him ruining your life._

_I love you, Summer_.

_I love you too, beautiful._

* * *

><p>"Fitz!" Jemma squealed happily as her best friend appeared on the computer screen in front of her.<p>

"Hi, Jemma" was his restrained response, but the smile on his face told her everything she needed to know. "It's good to see you."

"Oh, I wish you were here, Fitz. Oh, not that I'm not happy you're with Dr. Fellowes, working on neural stimulators, but if you were here it would mean that I could tell you …"

"Slow down, Jem," Fitz said, laughing. "I might not be right there next to you, but I _am_ on the computer and you can tell me whatever you want."

He looked so good, so close, that Jemma wanted to reach through the screen and hug him.

"Oh, but first, tell me how your project's going," Jemma said. "I want to hear all about it."

"Are you sure? It's rather boring," Fitz said. "Just a lot of long days in labs, spent hunched over workbenches, making the most precise repairs to some of the tiniest machines I've ever worked on. You wouldn't believe how tiny the screwdrivers are! A monkey could barely hold them in his adorable little hands."

He held up his own hands as though trying to compare them to a monkey's. "What I'd give to have a monkey in the lab. It'd be perfect. He'd be a perfect little companion and…"

"I met a girl," Jemma blurted out.

His hands still in the air, his mind obviously still on the monkey companion, it took Fitz a moment to react. "You what? You met who?"

"A girl," Jemma repeated, and she blushed hotly.

Fitz dropped his hands. "Shut _up_," he said.

Jemma went even redder.

"Jemma My-Standards-Are-Too-High Simmons met a _girl?!"_ Fitz grinned at her. "See, all it took was me leaving the country and..."

"Don't be daft," Jemma snapped at him.

"What's she like?" Fitz asked.

Jemma's cheeks were burning. She unconsciously twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. "She's… she's just lovely, Fitz."

On the screen, her best friend grabbed a large frozen beverage from somewhere behind his computer, and took a long drink of something bright blue. "Go on," he said once his mouth was mostly clear.

"She's beautiful… and funny… and smart…"

"So, just like you."

"Oh, stop it."

"What's her name?"

"Skye," Jemma said, loving the way the word sounded on her tongue. "Her name is Skye."

Fitz took another slug of his Slurpee. "Skye," he repeated.

Jemma loved it even when Fitz said it. "She's gorgeous, Fitz. And she lives in my dorm and we're working together on a project for class and she's deaf and –"

"Wait a minute. She's what?"

"Deaf," Jemma said.

Fitz put his Slurpee down. "Deaf?"

"Deaf."

"As in, when you can't hear?"

"Ten points for Gryffindor, Mr. Fitz."

"First of all, we all know I'd be in Ravenclaw," Fitz said. "And second – she's _deaf?_ How on earth do you talk?"

"Well, we don't," Jemma said. "I mean, she doesn't. I mean, she does, sometimes, but usually she signs. And I talk."

"And she… what, reads your lips?"

"Sometimes," Jemma said.

Fitz looked confused.

"She has an interpreter," Jemma elaborated. "And I'm learning to sign."

Now Fitz looked skeptical.

"Oh, come on, Fitz. I already speak four languages. What's another?"

"But… _sign language?"_

"It's a language like any other."

Still, Fitz's expression didn't change.

"Fitz, she's just lovely," Jemma said softly. "She has… this spark in her eyes that makes me wonder what she thinks about. And when she smiles…"

She knew she was getting soft and dreamy, but she couldn't help it.

"If you like her, if you think so highly of her, then she must be someone special," Fitz said.

"She is."

Fitz took another long drink of his Slurpee. "Well, maybe… maybe when you see her again, you could ask her what the sign is for 'monkey.' I'd be interested to see it." He tapped his fingers on the Slurpee cup. "And also… whenever you get really good at the sign language, you can introduce her to me."

It was almost as good as Fitz saying, _You like her, so I'll like her_, and Jemma wanted to leap through the computer and kiss his silly Scottish face.

"Of course I will," she said, beaming.

"'Night, Jem."

"'Night, Fitz."

He held his hand up to the computer's camera and Jemma held hers up in the same way; their virtual hands appeared to touch, a cross-the-miles high-five that said more than words ever could.

"Miss you," Jemma said when Fitz pulled his hand back.

"Miss you, too," he said, and then he was gone.

Jemma closed her computer and snuggled back down into her bed, the book she'd gotten from Professor May propped up on her knees. Her lips moved slowly as her hands shaped and reshaped into the finger-spelled alphabet, over and over, until she could do it fluidly and flawlessly.

Then she closed the book, turned off the lights, and scampered back to bed. In the dark she lay smiling up at the ceiling, her hands spelling out words as though they were liquid, or silk, or something equally ephemeral.

_J-E-M-M-A._

_S-K-Y-E._

* * *

><p><em>Good morning<em>, Skye signed to Professor May. Somehow the Asian woman always looked flawless, as if she'd never stayed awake all night wondering about gorgeous British girls or horribly aggressive stalkers.

May smiled. _Good morning, Skye. Where is Mr. Coulson?_

Skye returned the smile. She'd always thought Professor May and Mr. Coulson had a thing for each other, that there was some sort of history between the two, because Mr. Coulson had a tendency to get goofy around the professor, his signs getting bouncier and his face getting redder as they conversed. But whatever it was, it was never spoken of; Mr. Coulson was with Audrey and Skye was pretty sure Professor May had a serious girlfriend who worked in the Dean's office – Maria something-or-other.

She realized Professor May was staring at her, and hurried to reply, _He went to the bathroom. Presumably to fix his tie._

_You could tell him he doesn't need to wear a tie_, Professor May signed. _Most interpreters don't._

_It would be like telling a bird not to fly_, Skye replied, her hand cresting through the air as she signed "fly."

_Some birds don't fly_, Professor May pointed out. _Ostriches. Emus._

_Penguins_, Skye agreed, smiling.

_The man is not a penguin_, May signed. _Have you seen him in a tux? He looks positively uncomfortable._

"Who looks uncomfortable?"

The professor turned and smiled at Phil Coulson as he entered her office. "No one," she said smoothly, using both sign and speech so that Skye could follow the conversation. "Have a seat, will you?"

When they were all seated, Mr. Coulson prodded Skye into explaining why they'd asked for a meeting with the professor, and hesitantly, Skye related the story of Grant Ward.

_He keeps getting angrier_, she signed, showing the professor some of the notes she'd come home to. _And this doesn't even include the emails. I was going to print them out, but I figured, why waste the ink?_

_This looks serious_, Professor May signed. _Have you told anyone about this?_

_My sister. Mr. Coulson_, Skye replied.

_Have you gone to your RA?_

Skye rolled her eyes and explained about her party-loving RA.

_The police?_ May suggested.

_What can they do about it?_ Skye asked. _Tell him to stay away from me, probably. But he hasn't __done__ anything yet – just sent me these notes. And tried to intimidate me physically._

_That's enough to get him on harassment,_ Mr. Coulson interjected.

Skye sighed. _I don't want to "get him,"_ she signed. _I want him to leave me alone._

May nodded. _What do you want me to do?_ she asked Skye.

_I need somewhere safe to go after our History class_, Skye answered. _He tends to get the most confrontational there, and Mr. Coulson can't stay with me because he has to go interpret for another student. I tried hiding in the bathroom but he just waited for me._

"We know you have class in the same building at the same time," Mr. Coulson put in, signing and speaking at the same time. "Could you meet Skye after her History class and walk her back here? I'd be able to meet up with her after that."

May nodded. "That should work out," she said, using both methods of communication as well. "I have a student I'm tutoring a few days a week, but if Skye's comfortable with her being here, I don't have a problem with it."

"Someone failing one of your classes already?" Mr. Coulson asked, grinning.

"More like, someone taking up a new hobby," May replied. _A girl who really wants to learn to sign_, she told Skye.

"It's a magical language," Mr. Coulson said.

Skye was so relieved that she hardly saw the last exchange between May and Coulson. _Thank you, thank you_, she signed quickly.

_But we need to figure out what to do, long-term, about this boy_, May signed. _You are always welcome to come to me for protection, Skye, but I won't always be around, and I want this handled._

_Okay_, Skye signed hesitantly.

_Promise me you'll talk to someone about this_, May went on. _Before he goes too far._

_Okay_, Skye repeated, and she wished she wasn't lying.

* * *

><p>Friday during Jane Austen class, the professor gave the students an opportunity to break into their pairs and work on their projects. Jemma turned to look at Skye. The deaf girl looked tired and upset, and it nearly broke Jemma's heart.<p>

_What's… wrong?_ she signed hesitantly.

Skye shook her head and forced a smile. _I'm fine_, she wrote in Jemma's notebook.

It was a lie, but Jemma was conscious of the professor's eyes on them, and so she said nothing as she took out an outline she'd drawn up of the project requirements. Handing it to Skye, she watched as the interpreter crossed the room to take up position behind her.

The book Professor May had given her had been full of interesting history of the Deaf community, and had included a section on how to talk to a deaf person through an interpreter: Talk to the person, not to the interpreter. Make eye contact with the deaf person. Speak normally.

It was hard, though, since Jemma's heart nearly stopped every time she saw Skye. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was definitely distracting.

She realized Mr. Coulson had spoken, and hurriedly jerked her head up. "Sorry. What was that?"

Skye signed, and Mr. Coulson repeated, "I was thinking we could focus on issues that Jane Austen might choose to write about if she was writing today. How she would treat relationships, or what she would have to say on the ways people meet and get together."

Jemma nodded. "Jane Austen in the age of Internet dating."

"A perfect title."

"Can you show me… the sign for dating?" Jemma asked hesitantly.

Skye watched as Mr. Coulson signed the request, and her face lit up. She turned to Jemma, moving her hands into two "d" shapes. Gently she brought her fingers, the curved parts of the d's, together, tapping them a few times. "Dating," Skye said, and her voice sent a shiver up Jemma's spine, a good but hot shiver that put a smile on her face and made her hands shaky as she repeated the sign.

_Dating_.

_Dating_, Skye agreed.

Jemma beamed as though she'd won a prize. _Thank you_.

"You're picking up sign quite quickly," Mr. Coulson observed as Skye went back to scribbling on the outline.

"It's fascinating," Jemma said. "And… I really like it."

Skye passed the outline back to Jemma, and the Brit could see she'd made some changes to the suggested schedule, as well as adding her own schedule and email address.

_In case you want to talk about our project_, Skye wrote in Jemma's notebook. _Or anything else._

Jemma went red and quickly tried to recover. "Excellent. Thank you. I will, um, get in touch with you. About the project, of course. Or maybe something else. But mostly the project."

And like an idiot, she fled the room.

* * *

><p>It was after eleven and Jemma was in bed when she heard the knock at her door. It was a frantic knock, <em>tap-tap-tap-TAP<em>, and she sat straight up, throwing off her covers.

"Hang on, hang on," she mumbled as she flicked on the lamp and made her way to the door.

In her sleepy haze, she didn't even bother with the peephole, just flung the door open, revealing Skye standing in front of her door, shaking. The deaf girl's hands were flying and tears were streaming down her face.

"Skye?" Jemma couldn't think. Then she saw the blood on the girl's hands and arms, and felt sick. "What happened?"

But of course Skye wasn't looking at her, wasn't able to see her lips. Jemma had to grab Skye by the shoulders and then force her chin upwards before she was able to sign her question: _What happened?_

Still shaking, Skye tried to take a step into the room. Her knees went out and she found herself falling towards the floor in slow motion.

Jemma caught her, somehow, and they ended up on the blue fuzzy rug together, their backs against the door. Skye shook with sobs and Jemma held her, wishing in that moment she could overcome their language barrier, wishing she could figure out what had happened and whose ass she was going to have to kick to fix things.

As Skye's sobbing slowed, Jemma brought her hands up. _You… fingerspell… what's wrong?_

Skye's breathing picked up and she shook her head. _No, no, no, no_.

_Please_.

But Skye was gone again, her head down and away from Jemma's questions. So Jemma got to her feet, grabbing her first aid kit and a pad of paper and a pen before sitting down in front of Skye again. Jemma wrote, _Whenever you're ready to tell me about it, I'll be here. Until then, I'm going to clean you up and give you some bandages._

She slid the notebook into Skye's lap and waited a few moments. Then she rolled up Skye's sleeves, softly gasping at the mess of scrapes and cuts that came into view. The wounds all looked raw, and fresh; some were still studded with what looked like bits of gravel or glass.

Jemma swallowed hard and then put her head down, going to work. With tweezers she removed the little bits of stone and glass. When she'd finished, she got a warm washcloth from the bathroom and carefully washed the cuts and patted them dry. She gently applied antibiotic cream and a series of gauze dressings over that.

By then, Skye had written two sentences in the notebook.

_I can't talk about it. Can I stay here tonight?_

Jemma nodded. _Of course you can stay here_, she wrote. _You're my friend._

* * *

><p>But as soon as the lights were off and Skye was curled up on the fuzzy rug with a pillow and an extra blanket, she started shaking again. She didn't know what she was doing in Jemma's room. She wasn't even sure why she'd gone to Jemma for help.<p>

_Because there wasn't anyone else_, her brain reminded her.

She'd wanted to call Summer, to call Mr. Coulson or Professor May or the cops – anyone, _anyone_ who could help her. It was as though her brain had forgotten she was deaf, because she all she wanted to do was talk. Her hands were shaking too much to sign coherently, and she found that she was getting dizzy.

All she'd wanted was a bubble tea, from the place just off campus. It was a ten-minute walk from her dorm, and even though it was October, it was still a nice night.

Or it had been.

Then she'd seen Grant Ward, standing on the corner as though he was waiting for her. She'd tried to turn, to go another way, but he was so big and tall and fast that he was on her in an instant.

In the dark it was impossible to read lips, but she could feel the vibrations of him yelling. Then all she could feel was his hands on her body, shoving her. She remembered stumbling, falling, dropping her bubble tea. There had been a short tumble down a low incline near the library and a series of horrifying moments in which Skye had been almost positive she was going to die.

But he just stood there, watching her. He'd said one more thing she couldn't understand, and then he was gone, leaving her on the ground, shaking and bleeding and cold.

When she was sure he was gone, she pulled herself up and ran.

And now she lay on Jemma's floor, sobbing and shaking.

Skye felt a warm hand on her back, and then Jemma was on the floor next to her, wrapping her arms around her, pressing her head against Skye's as though they could communicate telepathically.

And as they rocked and Skye sobbed, she felt Jemma's hands in hers, spelling out a message one letter at a time. At any other time Skye would have been irritated by the amount of time it took for the message to get across, but as Jemma repeated the message over and over, Skye only felt calmer, more connected.

_You are okay_, Jemma spelled. _You are my friend. Things will be okay_.

On the fuzzy blue rug, with Jemma's hands in hers, Skye could almost relax, almost pretend she wasn't terrified. And as the Brit continued to spell her message, Skye seized one sentence in particular and let it slow her heart rate, until she almost felt like she could sleep, like she wouldn't fall apart, at least for now.

_You are my friend._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay, folks, if you made it this far, here's a question. This story can go in one of two different directions. Let me know if you'd like to eventually see

a) something extremely dark or

b) something that is less dark.

I have options for both, and I'm excited to hear what you would prefer.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So, I've been having some hangups in life which leave me not creatively inspired. But I know people were waiting for another installment of this, and honestly, so was I. Here it is. More later - sooner, hopefully.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>When Jemma woke up, Skye was still sleeping. They'd eventually ended up in an awkward sprawl on Jemma's floor, wrapped up in all of the blankets from her bed. At different points during the night, Jemma had awoken to find Skye's fingers still wrapped around hers, the deaf girl's breathing soft and gentle. It had reassured Jemma; after the confusing and somewhat terrifying night, she was glad to see that Skye could relax enough to sleep.<p>

Jemma slipped out from under the blankets and got to her feet. She threw on a sweatshirt and her fuzzy slippers and grabbed her cell phone. Then she hesitated. If Skye woke up and she was gone, it would be pretty scary.

Quickly Jemma wrote a note on the back of a flier advertising study groups in the dorm: _Skye, I went downstairs to make a phone call. I'll be back in twenty minutes. I'll bring breakfast. Please wait here. – Jemma_

She slipped the note under Skye's hand.

Downstairs the dorm was coming back to life. Jemma checked her mailbox and then found a still-empty classroom. Holding her breath as she dialed, she punched in a number she'd scribbled into her planner.

_Ring… ring… ring…_

"Hello?"

Jemma's heart leapt in her chest. "Professor? Professor May?"

"Yes?"

"This is Jemma. Jemma Simmons. I'm, um, the one you're tutoring in ASL?"

"Yes. Good morning, Jemma. Is there something I can help you with?"

"It's Skye," Jemma said.

She could almost hear the professor come to attention. "What about Skye?"

"Last night she was… I think she was attacked."

Professor May inhaled sharply. "Where is she now?"

"She's in my dorm room. In Castell Hall, number 428," Jemma said. "Could you… could you come here and talk with her? I know she'd listen to you."

She flushed, realizing that they would be signing… and that Skye wouldn't be listening.

But Professor May didn't seem to notice. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Professor."

Jemma hung up and watched as a group of girls still in their "going-out" clothes paraded past the door of the classroom. They were talking and laughing, seemingly having a great time. Their night had been so much fun… hers and Skye's had been so different.

There wasn't a line at the takeout window in the cafeteria, so Jemma grabbed two single-serving bowls of cereal, two cartons of milk, two apples, and two jelly-filled Danishes. She skirted a group of boys heading out to play soccer and hurried back upstairs.

Skye was still asleep on the floor when Jemma let herself back into the room. She sat down on the rug and poured the milk over her cereal, then ate it while reading her notes from her pathophysiology class.

Jemma had just finished her apple when there was a knock at her door. She got to her feet, tossed the core in the garbage, and opened the door.

Professor May stood there, looking as refined as usual, clad in a well-tailored pantsuit and carrying a leather handbag. Next to her was Mr. Coulson, awkwardly adjusting his tie.

"Oh, thank goodness," Jemma said.

She let them in, and pulled over her desk chair for Professor May. Mr. Coulson knelt next to Skye and gently pulled back the blanket covering her upper body, then patted her shoulder, trying to wake her without frightening her.

"What did she say to you?" May asked Jemma.

"I couldn't get her to tell me about it," Jemma said. "But she showed up here late last night covered in scrapes and practically incoherent. She almost passed out. I think someone tried to attack her."

May gave Mr. Coulson a sharp glance.

"She said it was under control," Mr. Coulson said quietly.

"She didn't tell you who hurt her?" May asked.

"No." Jemma shook her head.

Skye rubbed her eyes and then blinked, seemingly surprised to see Professor May and Mr. Coulson in the room. Almost immediately she realized what they were doing in Jemma's dorm and she began to sign one word over and over.

It broke Jemma's heart – she recognized the sign.

_Sorry. Sorry. Sorry._

Tears welled up in Skye's eyes as she desperately signed her apology to Mr. Coulson and May.

"Oh, Skye," Mr. Coulson breathed, and he put his hands over hers, effectively silencing the girl, while May started to sign.

"Do not apologize, Skye," Professor May said, speaking as she signed. "It isn't your fault. It's the fault of the person who did this, and he isn't going to get away with it. Mr. Coulson and I will go in front of the dean on Monday, and we will go to the police station later today and report the assault."

Skye's hands flew into motion. _No, no, no!_

"Skye," Mr. Coulson said gently, "you can't deal with this man on your own. Please, let us help you."

May leaned forward, and Jemma sucked in an anxious breath – it looked like the professor was going to slap the deaf girl, or shake her by the shoulders. But May reached for Skye's sleeves, and carefully rolled them up, exposing the bandages Jemma had placed the night before.

"This is serious," May said softly, still signing. "You are too important to too many people to let someone this close-minded hurt you like this."

Skye turned her head to look at Mr. Coulson, who signed a series of sentences he didn't vocalize.

_People care about you, Skye. You don't have to be strong on your own. It's important to fight your own battles, but it's also important to realize that no one can fight all of their own battles. Let us help you – me, May, and your friend Jemma._

Skye brushed tears from her eyes. _He's too much_, she signed to Coulson. _When he's around it's like I forget how to breathe, how to walk, how to protect myself. I've never been around someone who hates deaf people as much as he does. Is it all deaf people? Or is it just me? I don't even know. And if it's just me – __why__?_

_It isn't you, Skye_, Coulson replied. _You are smart, and strong, and brave. There is no one in the world in their right mind who would want to stand in your way. You have power I don't think you even know about. You're so much bigger than this jerk._

_But when he's attacking me all I feel is small_, Skye signed.

She pushed herself to her feet, looking around the room. _Maybe I should just go home_.

Mr. Coulson stood as well, putting his hands gently on Skye's shoulders to get her attention. Once her eyes were on his face, he signed carefully, putting great significance into his movements. _I can't tell you what to do. I can't tell you how to live your life, or how to feel about these problems you have. But I can tell you that you're worth ten of this asshole, if not more. Your life has value, your studies here have value, and __you__ have value above and beyond this series of minor inconveniences. And that's all they'll be. The professor and I will watch out for you as best we can, and Jemma can be with you when we can't._

May, who had been observing the entire conversation, broke in. _Don't make any decisions today_, she signed. _Sleep on it. Mr. Coulson and I will go to the dean on Monday and we'll come up with a plan of action._

_Fine_, Skye signed flatly.

The professor and her interpreter spoke with Jemma for a few more minutes, and then they left. Jemma closed the door behind them and then turned back to Skye.

Skye raised her hands and signed _write, please_.

She watched as Jemma processed the two signs. Then the other girl went to her desk and found a pad of paper and a pen.

_I'm sorry about all this. I'll go back to my room now, get out of your hair_, Skye wrote, and she passed the paper to Jemma.

It took only seconds for Jemma to read the two sentences, but quite a bit longer for her to write her reply. She passed the paper back to Skye once she'd finished.

_You don't have to apologize about anything. I'm glad I could be here to help you. And you don't have to run out of here. You can stay if you want. I like having you here. I… I like you._

Jemma flushed bright red as Skye read what she'd written. The temperature in the room seemed far too hot, and Jemma was almost positive her ears were ringing. She had never been so forward with someone, especially someone she didn't know well.

A small smile appeared on Skye's lips, and she wrote a response. _ I need to go back to my own room to think. I need some space for a bit. But I'm really grateful that you were here. And I'd like to spend more time with you. After all, we have that presentation coming up. And… I like hanging out with you. I like you too._

Jemma's eyes remained glued to the last sentence Skye had written, and it completely took her by surprise when Skye was suddenly next to her, holding her coat under one arm.

"Jemma," the deaf girl said in her awkward lovely voice.

And she leaned in, all raspberry-scented hair and humming hearing aids and overwhelming beauty, causing Jemma's brain to fairly shut down, and she kissed Jemma gently on the cheek.

Jemma was still standing in the middle of her room, holding the pad of paper, shell-shocked, when she realized Skye had let herself out into the hallway, the door closing quietly behind her.

"Typical Jemma," she could hear Fitz say – but it wasn't true, she wasn't typical Jemma any longer. She had no idea who she was.

But that kiss – it burned like a brand on her cheek, and there was something about it she desperately wanted more of.


End file.
